:once upon a time…:

…there was a very lucky nine year old girl (the one behind her sister) who travelled to distant lands and saw wondrous sights and wondered if she could one day grow up and go back to those distant lands to study the history of these ancient people.

Unfortunately, she was told to turn her attention away from such silly thoughts.

She was told that all that could be found was found.

She was told all that could be known was known.

She was told, it was foolish.

And so, she turned away from these foolish thoughts and silly dreams.

Decades later she watched documentary after documentary showing the new discoveries being made of those ancient people she had longed to study. This made the young woman she had grown up to be very sad, and so she vowed to listen to no one else about how and what to do with her dreams. Eventually, she met a man who felt the same way and encouraged her to follow her dreams, no matter how silly they may seem to others.

She never went back to that distant land, but she is living happily (ever after.)


My husband always tells my son, “Always trust a woman’s intuition. They’re always right.”

The first time I heard him say this, I was a bit shocked. I don’t trust my own intuition. I second guess every decision I make. I’ve gotten much better over the years, but I’m a nervous wreck about almost everything I do.

Or, at least I am when I overthink things.

Projecting every bad scenario into every moment is a specialty of mine.

It is one of the things I am trying to break through meditation and mindfulness. This mistrust of my own intuition is what gives rise to the doubts, fears and ultimately the self sabotaging actions.

What if no one likes my writing? What if I get laughter at? What if I fail? What if…? What if…? What if…?

I need to trust that intuition.

After all, it lead me to marry a man who is raising our son to trust female intuition.


I fell in love with the idea of living off the land and homesteading around the time I read Little House in the Big Woods when I was eight. Laura Ingles Wilder’s series fascinated me and made me into a voracious reader. They were also the books which powered my dreams of living in another, simpler time, and being able to learn to do things on my own.

We are so incredibly lucky to be able to have a taste of this right now where we live. We have a garden of veggies, a small starter flock of chickens, and I’m starting to learn to preserving and gluten-free backing from my neighbor and amazing landlord. (Really, R, thank you, thank you, thank you!)

We already know that California is not the place for us. It is gorgeous. The weather here can’t be beat. However, we miss being able to see our family more than once a year, and the water shortage here has us very leery to invest money into a real estate market that is priced way past ridiculous.

So, for now we will just enjoy NorCal, learn what we can, and know that that perfect farm is out there for us somewhere on the East Coast.

Hey there…


When I was last here I was going through a lot. A. Lot.

Still am, but I finally feel ready to start writing again. What I am going to use this space for is up in the air. I feel like I should have a reason for being here. I just can’t seem to nail that reason down. That and design and lack of photographs and stress and…and…and…

You get the picture.

Ninety percent of accomplishment is the act of DOING.


I We have moved clear across the country, from sunny, humid, hot Florida to sunny, dry, cooler California. NorCal to be specific. This moved actually happened eleven months ago (I’ve been away from the blog way too long!)

We added one more move while here. This move has also encompassed my twentieth move, and our family’s tenth.

To say that D and I suffer from a bit of wanderlust would be an understatement.

So, the limbo I have been in has been one filled with changes in locations, just being a family of four again (I’ll get into that another time), started homeschooling with the kids (always wanted to do this), ending my career as a CrossFit coach, making new friends, missing my family, and trying to figure out who I “am”…again.

This year I also told myself I needed to get back into this blog or just let it go.


Here I am.

Dream Childlike


I watch my children with absolute wonder. They are amazing, and I am not just saying that because I am their mother. All children are.

They have no limits on their imaginations. The set goals of being cowboy boot wearing astronauts who own art galleries and find a new species of tiny monkey. And they are serious about it. I wish I had a mind was that big.

I hear all the time that children are limited in their understanding, but I think that is a constructed truth adults tell ourselves and our kids to make ourselves feel better. Think back to when you dreamed with no limits, to the discarded dreams, to the promises you made to your self, and then broke. I know my past is riddled with them. Usually they are marked by the memory of a sudden death at the hands of others: teachers, parents, friends.

“That’s kinda risky.”

“It’s a nice dream, but your not really going to do that.”

“It’s time to grow up.”

And I listened. I listened and I sighed and trudged on the straight and narrow path of normalcy.

But what child wants to be normal? What child dreams of being average and unnoticed and ordinary?

And why do we have to change? There seems to be no wisdom in that. History if full of men and women who dreamed big. They are the ones we hold up high as an example of success, and then we turn around and tell our children “Be like them, but don’t do what they do. Do the opposite. Do what makes you average. Do what makes me comfortable.”

“…what makes me comfortable.”

Children’s dreams get stifled for our sake, not for theirs.

Learn to dream big again. Make people call you crazy. Make them tell you to stop being unrealistic.

Then you know you will be on the right path.



The other night I was handed a bit of humble pie.

Before I explain that, let me say that I am not a person that feels the need to know it all nor do I claim to. I am definitely not the kind to crave confrontation. However, I am the kind of person who feels a need to fix things, whether it is a boo-boo on one of my kids or a social right violation not being addressed. Those are the sorts of things I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut about.

Anyway, back to the other night. I was having a discussion about right and wrong and why systems seem to set up to punish those who have little recourse to fight for themselves. I gave a very specific example to illustrate what I know, and I got schooled on just how much I don’t know.

Many times we make up our minds about something, and that’s it. We read the surface information and decide. The media is notorious for this, giving us surface facts to work with, never the true context or details, and then fanning the flames those false assumptions can create. Well, I put my foot in it, got schooled and accepted the growth (however painful) that came with that.

Accepting that we may not know all or that changing our minds does not make us weak. There is strength in being humble to the world. There is strength in understanding that what we see may not be what is. Being humble to the world is not always easy, for our hearts or minds, but it keeps us connected and growing. Being humble is important to me because it tells me that I am still teachable. I am still childlike in my heart. I am still open to the world.